By Karen Richards
I didn’t start out intending to write a memoir. In fact, for many years―ignoring my own deep yearnings―I quietly avoided writing honestly about myself or my life. I tamped down thoughts about the meaning I imparted to ordinary things, the layered, complex connections between events, skeins of colored threads twisting on unruly spindles, tangled and tight in my efforts to contain them. Once in a while I wrote poetry, as if slowly turning a faucet, allowing just a few meas...
Published on July 09, 2021 04:00